


My Date (?) with the President's Son

by braedens



Series: 29 Different Love Stories [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, President Sheriff Stilinski, President's Kid Stiles Stilinski, also stiles and derek are friends, and everything is wierd, and they talk about life, in which stiles actually has met scott before, literally have no clue what else to tag this, president's kid, secret service agent braeden, secret service agent derek hale, secret service agent scott mccall, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:25:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braedens/pseuds/braedens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 7: president's child and secret service agent + sciles</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Date (?) with the President's Son

“How many times are you going to nag me about leaving my shoes in the strategy room?” Stiles argues, hands thrown in the air.   


His dad rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe until you stop _leaving them there,”_ he deadpans.

Which, wow, way to turn it around, pops. To be fair, neither he or his dad ever take their petty arguments seriously. At this point, it’s their way of spending time with each other.   
  
“Well, have you ever thought if maybe you _let me out_ once in a while, I wouldn’t need to be leaving them around. You know, because I’d be wearing them,” Stiles glares, unamused. “Out. And about.”  
  
His dad smirks, and he kind of wants to punch him. Not really, of course, or else he’d be in security detail in a hot minute.   
  
“Funny you mention that.”  


  


* * *

 

Okay, so, Stiles knows he doesn’t have much room to complain in the matter. He hears the same speech every time: _‘It’s unsafe, you’re too young, people see you as a threat’_ and his personal favorite ‘ _Is the Treaty Room not entertaining enough for you?_ ’.

It’s pretty much his life as the son of the President of the United States.   
  
Don’t get him wrong, he’s fucking proud of his dad. He’s one of the first presidents to be elected into office as a single parent, his beloved and well-raised son one of the reasons he was thought so highly of in the elections. 

Now, he’s in his second term, and Stiles has just turned twenty-one. And really, he can’t complain about his life. He may as well be the poster child for white privilege, but he tries really hard to be a genuinely good person and to try and live normally. He did get to study at Brown University (with the wonderful company of his Secret Service guards _everywhere. He. Went.)_  
  
(Though, Derek wasn’t so bad. Aside from his gruff exterior, he was actually kind of a sweetheart.)  
  
Now that he’s graduated and back at the White House in hopes to start on the path to the Senate, his dad has been especially careful. Because apparently when you became a legal adult in retrospect to being the President’s son, you are a potential target for, well, _anything_. 

Stiles is roaming the yard of the White House, tossing a ball back and forth with Clementine, their adorable husky, when Derek walks over to him. 

“Stiles,” he nods. 

Stiles tosses the tennis ball, causing Clementine to race for it. “Hey, Derek.” he greets, a wide smile. 

He likes Derek, really. Derek has been his dad’s personal and favorite guard since he was elected, which was why he came with him to college. He likes to think he and Derek share a close bond; what with Derek probably knowing almost every detail of his personal (and sex) life.   
  
Derek, thankfully, agreed to keep some things from under his dad’s nose.

Mostly because Stiles found out about Derek’s fling with Braeden, one of the first female Secret Service agents the POTUS staff had hired. Though, not much for brown-nosing anymore on his part, seeing as they are in a monogamous relationship. Stiles is sure Derek asked her to move in with him. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this,” Derek starts, and Stiles widens his eyes. “But I figured you should know at least a piece before you get thrown off guard.”  
  
“Spit it out, dude!” Stiles exclaims, moving his hand to scratch behind Clementine’s ears when she nudges at his leg.   


Derek smirks. “Your dad hired a personal agent for you.”  
  
His brows furrow at the mention. Usually, his dad threatens that when he’s being a menace, and he likes to think he’s been almost angelic these last few weeks, okay. “What, why? What did I do?”  
  
“You didn’t do anything,” Derek chuckles, and takes the tennis ball from Stiles’ free hand, throwing it over the boy’s back, and Clementine rushes away. “You said you wanted to be able to go out more, be social. So, he hired an agent that’s assigned to follow you wherever you go.”  
  
Stiles can’t lie; he’s a bit excited. He missed college, when he could go to parties, get drunk until 4AM, and make-out with random people. Of course, he never went home with anyone because, come on, he _has standards_. (All of which are protocol as enforced by Derek Hale and approved by the POTUS).  
  
Now he’s twenty-one, and he wants to go out, do the typical scene where he goes to bars, plays pool, and feels normal. But, seeing as he left a lot of his friends in Rhode Island, he’s left slumping around his house.

“Who is it? I need to do recon, man.” he asks excitedly, but Derek takes a step back. “No,” Stiles warns, pointing a finger to Derek as the man starts to walk away. “No, no, nononononono Derek! You have to tell me!” But Derek’s already a few feet away.   


“Why wait? They’re already upstairs getting debriefed.”  


* * *

 

Stiles waits outside the Oval Office, pacing back and forth. Braeden is currently standing guard, and she’s giving Stiles an annoyed look.   
  
“Stiles, just wait like two seconds, calm down. Your father’s almost done.”  
  
“Almost done potentially hiring the worst person that ever had to spend all day, every day with me.”  
  
“I’ve already met them, they seem great. I think you two will hit it off.” she assures.   


“You’ve already met them?” he gasped, a hand to his chest in such an exaggerated manner. “At least tell me if they are a boy or a girl?”  
  
Braeden just shrugs, that devil.

“I don’t know how Derek can love you. Oh wait, yes I can, you’re both _evil monsters_.” he deadpans.  


He knows Braeden can sense his sarcasm, and she smiles just a tad, because he’s pretty sure all she heard was his comment about Derek loving her. 

His expression softens. “How do you like his place, anyway?”  
  
Braeden’s eyes narrow at him, and her lips purse, and Stiles can’t help the mischevious smile that spreads across his face. It’s not necessarily prohibited that staff of POTUS have relations, but it’s strongly persuaded against for chaotic workplace. But, Braeden and Derek are sickeningly perfect for each other. 

“It’s...homey,” she offers, a small smile. Suddenly, her eyes are downcast, and Stiles can tell she’s being spoken to through her earpiece. Then her eyes meet his and, fuck, she looks like she knows something.   
  
“The President of the United States will see you, now.” she says, opening the door to the office.  
  
Stiles flips her off on the way in.

* * *

 

He walks in, and the door immediately shuts behind him. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly nervous, but his palms sweat, and his steps are slower. 

On the sofas in front of him, his dad is sitting in the one that faces him, and his head lifts when Stiles walks in. In the opposite sofa, a man with his back to him is sitting, dark hair and tanned skin.

“Son, perfect timing.” He moves to stand, but Stiles eyes stay on the mysterious man. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”  


At that, the man stands up, and faces Stiles, and Stiles thinks he just got punched in the gut. He must have, because this is some cruel, cruel trick.

His eyes roam the man’s soft eyes, tanned skin, crooked jaw, and Stiles knows he doesn’t need an introduction. Because months ago, at a party that was supposed to celebrate Brown’s winning streak in basketball but really was just an excuse to get flat-out wasted was when Stiles first saw those eyes. Because months ago, he remembers said eyes meeting his at every moment they could that night, followed by that ridiculously adorable smile. 

Because, months ago, Stiles thought to himself ‘fuck it’, and dragged the guy to a spare bedroom in the house the part was in, and proceeded to do things he was glad his dad never had to hear of. 

And man, was it  good. The guy had giggled, actually giggled, when Stiles pushed him onto the bed, and it caused Stiles to reciprocate, muffled by the skin of neck he was nipping at. And it was sweet, and fun, and by the time he had actually kissed the guy, they were both breathless and writhing, Stiles slotting the guy’s legs to fit between them. 

That was the night Stiles realized he might have a hair-pulling kink.

And a biting kink.   
  
But because he was _him,_ Stiles had to forget that night happened. He was graduating in a few short months, and after that he would go back to D.C. and be the second-most important person in the United States. 

So, no, he needs no introduction, because in front of him with dark brown eyes and a sweet smile is Scott McCall, and he’s fucked him. 

Twice. 

Internally, Stiles is pretty much screaming. But, he’s also confused. Actually, no he’s not. The earliest age to become a secret service agent is twenty-one, but it’s extremely rare that happens.   
  
“Stiles, this is Scott McCall, the newest SS agent. He’s going to be your personal bodyguard as well.”  
  
Stiles just clenches his jaw.   
  
“You said you wanted to be able to go out and be normal, so now you can. Agent McCall will be with you at all times you leave the house. His age will make it much easier for you two to blend in and avoid altercations. And, don’t worry, he has a fantastic track record. You’ll be in good hands.”  
  
And Scott, the _bastard_ , moves around the sofa to face Stiles, his smile disgustingly bright. He sticks out his hand, and Stiles can see a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Mr. Stilinski,” his voice smooth and sweet, just as he remembered, and Stiles really should _not_ be having these thoughts, nope. “It’s a pleasure to be at your service.”   


Stiles tries so, _so_ hard to play off the whine that comes from the back of his throat.

**Author's Note:**

> this work is part of my month long project called "29 Different Love Stories"
> 
> read more about it on my [tumblr](http://braedens.tumblr.com/)


End file.
